Temper tantrums and manipulation

I have to admit that I’m intrigued by people who have anger problems. I simply do not understand how a sober person degenerates into a screaming, yelling or violent POS at what appear to be mild stimuli.

I’ve just finished watching the TV series Oz, and was astounded at the level of anger mismanagement and violence portrayed therein. If you aren’t familiar with it, OZ is about a fictional correctional facility where inmates are given more freedom as a psychological experiment aimed at rehabilitation. Only. What happens is that a great deal of the characters that we see get “taken out” by fellow inmates due to anger, based largely on retaliation. So in such a place if you piss someone off, you might get shanked in your sleep. How diplomatic.

Obviously that was fictional, but after watching all that violence and seeing characters who one has become emotionally invested in killed, there is something very disturbing about having someone in real life prodding their finger in your kidney or belly and saying “shank!” or “stab!”. I’m sorry, I’m not a 12 year old boy, so I don’t find that amusing, I mean, it’s practically a threat.

So why did I watch such a horrific series if I got upset? Well the characters were very complex. Many were extreme manipulators, a quality that also intrigues me because I cannot fathom it. The overall thread running through that there was still hope for these incarcerated “turds”. I’ll admit that the grit made it much harder to swallow, and that parts were nauseating, but having some long running characters touting taking responsibility, learning (self)forgiveness, moving on and giving another chance as the things that kept the unit afloat was enough to temper the barbaric violence.

I only wish that others could take those messages home. Like those who feel the need to repeatedly yell “fuck off!” and throw, punch or kick things. Even if those things are pillows and not something sharp or heavy.

To resort to physical violence is an immature response to an overwhelming sensation of anger. Most of us can find other outlets, but sometimes it seems like you can’t rid yourself of the feeling without breaking something, and I know I’ve been there. But violence and breaking things just causes the cracks to spread. The anger isn’t gone, it’s just waiting at the next crossroad.

Disconnect and self-destruct one bullet at a time”~ a perfect circle, the outsider

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I am what I am not ( part 2)

Yeah I know I used that title idlewild reference before (quite recently in fact) buts it’s the only thing that seems relevant.

A few words triggered a massive inner hurricane and I felt like a damned superhero on the brink of unleashing some mortal power. The doors survived slamming and the grocery bags didn’t break as I threw them down because although I felt the need to break something…I was not far gone enough not to see the consequences (this time). It sounds like I have a terrible anger problem doesn’t it? But I think I coped quite well considering. Considering that I had, yet again, been told black was white.

It sounds trivial, but I was criticised for not running ahead to unlock the door for someone, so when I rushed and tried my best to find my keys (that had securely snuggled themselves somewhere between my wallet and phone) my companion impatiently said very bitingly that I was not bothering, like usual. Now, he was damned lucky I didn’t throw the groceries at him and walk off, but I didn’t, I just set my jaw and ran ahead to unlock the next door to prove him wrong (god. I hate reverse psychology, it’s the worst…) and then my mood was apparently unacceptable
Did I get an apology? Of course not.

I’m sick and tired of going told what I am ( when I am not) and vice versa. Sick of being told I am doing one thing when I’m trying to do something else. I’m not standing for having my perception and memories distorted out of all recognition.

“You were way out of line
Went and turned it all around on me again
How can I not smell your lie
Through the smoke and arrogance?

http://grooveshark.com/s/The+Undertaker/2uYPKk

Ha! I even referenced the same puscifer song in my last post called “I am what I not”

Pre-dictable association.

Get out of my way, you fucking moron!

That’s what a cyclist yelled out this evening

“get out of my way, you fucking moron!”

I can only assume that someone took a dump in his desk drawer at work today or something. I’m not sure if this comment was intended for me, or the bikes coming the other way, or the stars, or the headlights but either way it seemed a bit unnecessary. I reckon he could do with listening to a bit more Jewel. I’m having a Jewel kind of week so far…despite the undeniable religious over, mid and undertones of many of her songs, the lyrics that don’t involve god, often provoke a sense of serenity and quiet introspection. Hands for example opens with the  following:

“If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we’re all OK
And not to worry ’cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these”

I find the sentiment both charmingly simple and culturally sagacious. It makes me think. We spend so much time and effort worrying and stressing, fretting and waiting for the sky to fall that we miss out on the good stuff. jewel declares that she won’t be idle with despair, and sometimes I need to be reminded just how wasteful it IS to just sit around being depressed and letting the whole damned world beat you up.

I’ll bet mister pottymouth on a bicycle has spent way too much time worrying, possibly about the lingering smell of the aforementioned hypothetical turd, and forgotten that sometimes it’s OK to give way to someone else, and sometimes you just have to sit back and enjoy the ride.

Jewel is right about a good few things, and the importance of kindness is right up there. We spend our depressed, egotistical little lives scratching at intruders and causing each other pain, when a little pinch of kindness would go a long way.

I’ve also justfinished reading the invisible man and frankly am disappointed…I think the reader is supposed to feel some empathy towards the invisible man, but he’s such an intolerable prick that frankly, I was releived when he died and I didn’t have to read about him again. I’ll try the time
Machine and work out if H.G. Wells just isn’t for me….

PS no I am not on any new exciting drugs, unless you count salbutamol as exciting…its hardly recreational.

Anger is rising

Today has left me feeling all kinds of annoyed. Firstly, the morning came too soon again. It’s been happening more and more. You know, someone stealing those precious dreamy hours away from me. It’s some kind of elaborate scheme so someone else can siphon off hours for their own pleasure, only I’m just too dumb to catch them in the act. One day I’ll catch them and then I’ll be able to sleep 12 hours a day AND do my job.

I’ve vowed never to return to that bike shop. I’ve been going to this shop religiously since I bought my bike there a few years ago. They were always super helpful, did little jobs with no charge and didn’t lie about how much things were going to cost. I trusted them. The staff have changed and maybe the management too.
Not only was I royally shafted (for the second time), but I was insulted again….when I went to collect I was asked IF I knew what kind of bike it is. Firstly, they should damned well know from my name which bike it is and secondly, clearly as I’ve got two x chromosomes I am supposed to shrug my shoulders or giggle and say a pink one with a wicker basket. Unimpressed face ensued, and I was prompted as to whether I knew the make…the delay was not because I didn’t know, I was angry…its a women’s Scott sports hybrid bike. I almost told him the model and frame size but he wouldn’t have got my point.
I’m actually unhappy with BOTH of the brakes, I do not think that they have been set up properly and I will have to fix them myself, as I should have done in the first place. As for the last visit there where they messed up my lock while fixing a pannier rack and I had to fix it myself because the boy working there was trying to permanently fix the lock to the bike….and I was charged labour for that! Can you imagine! And the kid just looked at me like, oh yeah I’ve just spent loads of time watching you fix that up and time is money. The rack was overpriced anyway. Grrr. Never again.

Ok that’s enough venting of anger. There is more, but I can’t write about it so I’ll just bend someone’s ear in 3D.

 

“What if all the world you used to know
Is an elaborate dream?”

All sorts of unreadable things

I don’t get it. In another life my gran and I should have been sisters. How did another type of creature altogether bridge the generations between us? I’ll never know. I was sad to leave her this morning but I have commitments back at home, and I cant undo the pain, only listen. Nor can I mend other broken people who don’t want to be helped. There is more but this is not the place. I wonder what anger turns into when it overflows? Or it is left to fester with noone trying to hold back the tides? I suppose it ferments into resentment. We shall see if the dam can hold it until the floods are over. Perhaps I need a higher dam, but it keeps the love and acceptance penned up on the other side, and shouldn’t that flow freely and wash the rest if the landscape clean?Experience comes at a cost, and you are rarely in a position to bargain.

..

image

. What can I say?
Someone very dear to someone very dear to me died this morning. I’m on my way to comfort her as best I can.

I make it sound so distant. It’s not. He wasn’t.

I’m angry
I’m sad
I’m shocked

The world just doesn’t look quite the right complement of colour, and yet the sun shines on regardless. How can that be?

I hope I can be some help
I hope the dog doesn’t bite me
I hope I don’t see anyone I know while in this most unflattering state of ungroomed horror.

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